DISCLAIMER: The Devil Wears Prada and its characters belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To brithna[at]gmail.com

Stephen never imagined it happening this way. Well, to be honest, Stephen had never taken the time to imagine this at all. At least not until now. Or not until the past few months. But it was happening this way, whether he liked it or not. Whether it was right or not it was happening this way.

He found the journal four months ago and really wasn't sure what to make of it. It couldn't be anything other than what it was though and his heart sank. Yet, Stephen was nothing if not optimistic. Having been a defense attorney in his younger days, Stephen knew plenty when it came to being optimistic. In light of that, he never mentioned it, figuring that maybe it would pass. Maybe it was something that would blow over, fade, and become meaningless. Maybe this Andrea girl was nothing.

Like a fool, he was willing to wait it out.

Stephen's optimism did not serve him well in this case because this Andrea girl was indeed something. He'd seen it firsthand. Although he had no clue of what she was like but for two brief encounters, it was enough. She was real, beautiful, and hardly a girl. And there were the journal entries, telling him far more than those two brief encounters ever did, of course. They told him exactly why this would not blow over, fade or ever become meaningless. They told him exactly what he did not want to know. Especially the entries from the past several weeks.

They told him that it was over.

But for a while, Stephen was optimistic; how could anyone blame him? The press could say what they wanted but he had not married Miranda for her money or her fame. Stephen married her because he loved her. Plain and simple.

When they met it was slow going at first. Miranda, by nature, didn't warm up to him as quickly as he was used to. Stephen, by nature, was used to women practically throwing themselves at him but that had certainly not been the case with Miranda. But, for reasons still unknown to him, Stephen jumped in without questioning why, with both feet, coming back for more and more until finally, he caught her.

Or that's what it felt like anyway. That's how it had seemed. Like he'd rescued Miranda. Like he'd broken through her walls. Like she'd finally fallen in just as much love with him as he was with her. The kind of love that could never be ruined or burn out. The kind that could survive the craziness of the world that constantly swirled around Miranda.

But now he knew differently.

What had actually happened was quite the opposite: Miranda settled. She had not jumped in with both feet. Her walls had not been broken. She had not fallen in love She settled for less, for him, like she settled for coffee that was less than center-of-the-sun hot when there was just no other way around it. She had been lonely, the girls needed a father-figure and Stephen ultimately fit the bill; his constant attention had showed her that much, apparently. So Miranda settled and Stephen never realized it until, unfortunately, he went looking for a fresh ream of paper for the printer in his study.

There wasn't any to be had in his so he went hunting in Miranda's; she was gone that evening to some meeting or other. The journal was in the back of a random drawer in the filing cabinet and at first, he'd smiled, happy in the notion that Miranda kept such a thing to begin with. It had Stephen wondering if she'd always kept a journal. He could picture it. A teenage version of the woman he loved, pouring her heart out onto blank pages where it was safe.

But her words were not safe now.

He read Miranda's journal twice that night, hardly believing a word of it. By the second reading, though, it had him more than a little shook up. But Stephen remained optimistic since he lived on hope just as much as Miranda claimed to.

Four weeks ago his optimistic streak finally disappeared altogether. The journal entries became more detailed, more intimate, more heart wrenching. Miranda was in love plain and simple.

The only thing that kept him coming apart, even a little bit was the fact that she had not actually cheated on him. Not yet. Not with the real, flesh and blood Andrea. So far there were just these words in this journal but he couldn't ignore it anymore. Not now. Not when he read: "For the first time in my life I am truly in love. For the first time in my life I am complete, yet not at all. I will only be complete in her which is likely to never happen. I will likely never have that chance."

That right there sealed the deal for Stephen because unlike Miranda, he would not settle. He would not settle for a woman that did not love him. He would not lay in bed night after night next to a woman that did not love him. He just wouldn't.

And while he was, at times, a heartless bastard with a nasty temper who drank too much every now and then, Stephen still wanted Miranda to be happy. That's probably what hurt him the mostthat he could not hate her no matter how hard he tried. And he tried. For months he tried, throwing little fits, letting his temper rise higher than ever over the dumbest things, but he just couldn't do it. It was like his mind simply refused to do it. Even worsehe couldn't even hate this girl, this woman that held Miranda's heart without knowledge. He couldn't even hate her. In factand this nearly put him over the edgehe almost felt sorry for Andrea.

Even though it might have all been for the sake of settling, Stephen had felt loved by Miranda for two solid years. Maybe he was just stupid, but he'd felt loved. And if that was all just a show then imagine what Miranda could be like with someone she truly loved? Imagine what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of so much love? Stephen could barely let himself think about it without fully breaking down.

So he had to let Miranda gofor his sake and herswhich was why he was sitting here at one o'clock in the morning with divorce papers, her journal and a glass of whiskey. And this was wrong doing it this way was wrong, but God he couldn't do it any other. He could not for the life of him imagine doing this in person. He couldn't imagine facing her, confronting this head-on. He couldn't imagine telling her why So he was taking the coward's way out by sending a fax.

But Stephen wasn't stupid. He knew Miranda would call immediately after. He knew that. He knew what would be said too and that the conversation he never wanted to have, would be had anyway. But at least it wouldn't be face to face. At least there was that much.

Exactly twenty-three minutes after pressing the send button on the fax machine, the phone rang. Before answering it, Stephen gulped down the rest of his whiskey.

"Hello, Mir"

"What are you doing, Stephen?" Miranda questioned without letting him finish his greeting.

Stephen swallowed hard against the now bitter taste in his mouth and closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to say, "What does it fucking look like I'm doing?" but couldn't; just like he couldn't be angry, truly angry at his wife for finally finding someone that could make her entire world right if given the chance.

So instead of saying all that, Stephen simply said, "I want a divorce, Miranda," as calmly as possible, refusing to let his voice give away how much of a complete wreck he was.

"Yes, I see that," she snapped at him, anger coming through loud and clear.

For some stupid reason he was hoping that she'd sound relieved, but she didn't. She didn't sound sad either, just pissed off. And why shouldn't she be? Getting this kind of fax was hardly decent. Even so, her sounding sad or emotionally fucked up in some way would have at least made him feel like something. He couldn't even put a name to it.

"Stephen, answer me. What are you doing?" Miranda questioned him again, a little louder this time.

"Miranda, I want a divorce."

"That's all you can say? I cannot believe this, Stephen," Miranda continued. Her voice cracked just a bit but it didn't make Stephen feel anything but more hurt.

"Well, believe it." Sadly enough this was all Stephen could say.

"I refuse," Miranda stated firmly. "I do not accept this, Stephen."

"I think you really should..." That came out in a whisper which made him feel weak, much too weak. The fact that his hand was on the journal just to his right didn't help the situation much either.

"Give me a reason!" She shouted and he jumped a little in his chair. Miranda never shouted.

Before he could slow down, before he could stop himself from being completely honest with her, Stephen said, "I found your journal, Miranda."

A full minute of silence went by. And another.

Finally Miranda spoke and it nearly broke him. She was crying. "When?" She asked, with a voice that sounded nothing like her own.

"Months ago," Stephen confessed then for some strange reason he suddenly felt like it was pretty important to point out that he had not intentionally gone snooping around for something, anything even remotely damning. All he'd been hunting for that night was some paper for his stupid printer. That's all. "I didn't mean to find it," he continued. "I was just trying to find some paper for the printer and figured you had some stashed in the filing cabinet."

Another full minute of silence went by and then she said the one thing Stephen had prayed she wouldn't. "It's not what you think, Stephen."

He sighed into the phone and willed himself not to yell at her. It was a daunting task but Stephen didn't want to resort to that. It didn't have to be like that. This did not have to turn into some sort of war.

Calmly he said, "Miranda, it is exactly what I think. I think you don't love me. I think you love her. Plain and simple."

"That isn't true," she said, sounding desperate.

Miranda wasn't desperate to convince him, though. Stephen knew that, even if Miranda didn't. No, she didn't really want to convince him of that right now. Right now, she wanted to convince herself of that.

"It is true, Miranda. It is. Don't lie to me don't."

Another full minute of silence went by but he could hear her crying throughout the entire sixty seconds. While he listened and waited, trying to be as patient as possible, Stephen's hand mindlessly moved over the leather surface of the journal. It was worn, the binding was creased just as it should be. It had been opened many times. After all, Miranda had been pouring her heart out onto these blank pages for months, where she thought her words, her desires, would be safe. But they weren't. They were not safe at all.

Without knowing why, Stephen flipped through the journal while those sixty seconds of silence and the sound of Miranda's tears continued on. He found the passageit was toward the beginning of the journalhe was looking for in no time at all. Without any warning he began to read it aloud.

"Where has she been all this time? I have absolutely no idea why I care, but I do. Somehow I feel cheated. Thinking on the time that has been wasted makes me feel cheated. But no matter. Everything is so much better now. I look outside my office and everything is so much better."

"Stop please, stop." Miranda interrupted him finally.

"I will when you agree to let me go, Miranda. This isn't fair " Stephen stopped to clear his throat, hating himself for being so close to tears. And Miranda was basically sobbing now. She sounded like she was dying which was just as well because that's how he felt. That's how he'd been feeling for a long time now. Like he'd just been waiting for a bomb to drop. Like he'd just been slowly burning up into nothing. Every time he picked up that journal, that journal where Miranda, his wife, poured her heart and soul out about someone else, and read the latest entry he felt like he was dying.

"I don't know what to say," Miranda said, breaking Stephen from his thoughts and tears that he refused to admit even existed.

"Just say 'yes'. And before you try, let me just tell you that nothing will change my mind, Miranda. There's four months worth of journal entries here that won't let me change my mind. So don't try. It won't work."

This time there was no minute of silence. "I'm sorry, Stephen. I don't know how this I don't know how this happened."

Well, for one, he was surprised to hear an apology of any sort because apologies, naturally, were not something Miranda excelled at. Secondly, he had a very good idea about how this happened.

"You settled. That's how this happened."

"What? I don't What do you mean?"

"You settled. We both know that now. If you don't believe me just let me read you some more of this." He held up the journal like she could see it and instantly heard Miranda start to cry again.

"Don't," she said weakly. "Don't read anymore of it. I can't bare it."

"Then give me what I'm asking for, Miranda."

"Alright "

And then there was another minute of silence.

Stephen was tempted to let it go on for longer. A part of him, honestly, didn't have the strength to talk, much less think anymore, but he knew there was just a little bit more to say.

"The girls are going to your mother's in the morning," he said flatly. "I'll be in the Hamptons by the time you get back. We can tell them later. Together But anyway, that's where I'll be."

"I can't stay here, Miranda. Don't ask me. I'll come back so we can tell the girls though. I hope that you'll well I hope you'll let me see them. I know I'm not their father but well, it's up to you, of course." This is when Stephen said a small prayer because even though it would be hard, he wanted to see Caroline and Cassidy whenever he could. He'd been purposely not thinking about this part ever since he figured out that everything was crashing to the ground; but now he had no choice. He couldn't put that off and he wanted to make sure Miranda knew right here and now that he wanted to see them.

"Of course," Miranda finally said. "Of course you can see them. I promise you that, Stephen."

Stephen breathed a heavy sigh of relief as some of the pressure lifted off his chest. At least he had this much. At least he still had them.

"Thank you, Miranda," Stephen said and honestly hoped that his sincerity could be heard. "That means a lot to me. I love 'em a lot, you know."

And right there he broke. Right there he finished falling.

He didn't count this time. A minute, a million minutes of silence went by while he tried to pull himself together. But finally he did. Finally, Stephen straightened up in his chair, wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to get this over with and just move forward. What was done was done and he'd just have to get over it. Plain and simple.

Miranda said something then but he didn't hear her. All he heard was footsteps coming down the hall and before he had time to blink, Caroline appeared in the doorway, bed head and all.

Quickly, Stephen mumbled for Miranda to hold on a second and he put the phone down and got up, praying that he seemed at least halfway together or that Caroline was too out of it to decipher that something was wrong.

"Why are you up?" He asked, picking Caroline up at the same time.

"Why are you up, Pop?" She replied, hugging him tightly.

"Couldn't sleep." Stephen hugged her back and started carrying her back down the hallway, trying to completely ignore the emotions that were churning inside him. He wondered how much longer he'd get to hear either of the girls call him 'Pop'? Even if Miranda said it was okay for him to see them, what if they grew tired of it or didn't want to see him altogether? Reaching Caroline's bedroom, Stephen shook off the question and equally frightening answer and put her back into bed.

"You want some milk or something?" He asked, putting her blankets back into some kind of order.

"Chocolate milk," Caroline stated sleepily.

"Okay," Stephen sighed. She really shouldn't be having chocolate in any form at this hour but what the hell? Why not?

"Oh, right!" Caroline said, suddenly very much awake. "You're taking us or Cara?"

"I'm taking you."

Caroline reached up to hug him again. "Awesome."

"You bet. I'll be back in a minute."

Stephen released Caroline and placed a bet with himself on whether the girl would even be awake when he came back to her room. But it didn't matter. Tonight it didn't matter; he'd wake her back up for her chocolate milk regardless. Why the hell not?

"Okay, I'm back," Stephen said as he plopped back into his chair.

"Is everything alright?"

"Everything's good. Caroline you know. Her milk."

"Right," Miranda cleared her throat. "Of course."

"Right. Listen, Miranda, before I go I just wanted to say one last thing. Well two things actually."

"Yes?" Her sharp inhale was hard to ignore. There was no telling what she thought he was probably going to say and knowing her, she was probably trying to figure it out well in advance so she would know how to respond. Little did Miranda know, she had no idea what he was about to say.

"I want you to know that I am not going to the press about anything." He knew he needed to clear that up tonight because Miranda would worry herself into a nervous breakdown if he didn't. Not that there wasn't a good chance she was having a nervous breakdown anyway, but regardless, he wanted her to know. "I'm not going to speak to them at all. Period."

"Oh " Miranda sounded disbelieving but that was fine. There really wasn't any way to convince her that he wouldn't go to the press other than to just not go to the press. Eventually, she'd figure out that he was telling her the truth.

And then Stephen dropped a tiny little bomb of own. "And I want you to tell her," he said firmly because he did he really did want her to tell this Andrea, this woman that Miranda couldn't stop thinking about, that she was in love with her. Otherwise, what in the hell was the point in all this heartache?

Hearing Miranda say nothing in return, Stephen repeated himself. "I want you to tell her that you're in love with her, Miranda. Is she married?" Because how would Stephen know? And, honestly, as much as he felt like he was still dying and could hardly wrap his head around what was happening to his own marriage, he really wouldn't be able to stand knowing that Miranda could possibly work herself up to ending someone else's marriage too. That was just too much.

"No. No she is not. She and her boyfriend have recently parted ways. Quite recently."

Ah. Stephen took a second to rub the back of his head and think this over. So she was free? Andrea was free and recently so? Obviously, there could be a thousand reasons as to why but he couldn't help but wonder if she might feel the same about Miranda. Just like losing contact with the girls, Stephen had purposely not been thinking about that but couldn't prevent it from crossing his mind now.

"Tell her," he said, still rubbing the back of his head. "And soon. That'll make this worth it." And yes, at the end there he sounded bitter. It couldn't be helped.

Surprisingly, Miranda said nothing about the bitterness but said plenty about the 'tell all' Stephen was proposing. Even if it was one sentence, it was plenty.

"I wouldn't have the first idea on how to go about it " she mumbled.

But Stephen did. He had a very good idea on how to go about it. "Just pretend she's your journal," he said, ignoring the fact that he was giving his wife advice on how to confess her love for someone else.

Miranda let out a sharp cough then said, "What?"

"Just treat her like she's your journal. Like she's a page in it. Say to her what you'd say in there."

"I don't know, Stephen," Miranda replied with the audible signs of more tears following. "And I seriously doubt now is the time for such things. If ever."

Stephen rolled his eyes. There was a slim chance that anyone else but him knew how good Miranda was at the game of talking herself out of something. This, apparently, would be no different but before Stephen could say more, he heard those footsteps again. Someone must be growing impatient for their chocolate milk.

"Look, Miranda, I have to go," he said quickly. "Caroline's up again. Just tell her, okay. You didn't write all that for nothing. Promise me that you'll tell her. She deserves to hear it."

"Alright," Miranda replied slowly and Stephen was genuinely surprisedor maybe notthat she agreed so quickly. "Kiss the girls for me?"

"I will. We'll talk soon. Goodnight, Miranda. And just so you know I love you. In spite of everything, I love you."

Before Miranda could say anything else, Stephen hung up the phone. He didn't want to hear her say an obligatory 'I love you too, Stephen.' No, he didn't want to hear that. Not now.

Just then, Caroline appeared in the doorway. "Pop, where's my milk?" She said, glaring at him or at least giving it her best shot. He really wasn't sure how she was able to stand but there she was, demanding as ever.

Stephen clapped his hands together and jumped up from his chair. "Coming right up, ma'am," he said with a smile on his face like nothing was wrong at all. Like his marriage hadn't ended minutes ago. Like he was always going to be Caroline's source of chocolate milk at two o'clock in the morning. Caroline laughed and a short time later she was tossed back into bed with a belly full of her favorite beverage. By the time Stephen closed the door, she was already fast asleep. After that there was nothing left to do but pack, knowing that he couldn't put it off until morning; there was no way he could sleep right now anyway.

Quietly, Stephen made his way to the attic to retrieve his luggage and whatever empty boxes he could find. Later he would have to hire movers to come get the bulk of his belongings but for now this would do. For now this was a perfect distraction. For now this was all he had so until it was time to wake the girls for their trip, Stephen would slowly and methodically pack up as much of his life as he could and force himself not to think about what might be going on in Paris right now.

And what's going on in Paris? Not much at the moment Miranda was scarcely able to make it to the couch much less think about what to do or what not to do. She'd never imagined this happening. Really. Truly. Miranda had never imagined this. She never imagined falling in love like this, jumping in with both feet. She never imagined letting walls down that had long been used to protect her from such things. And Andrea hadn't even done anything to make these things occur she didn't have to. All she'd done was be herself and Miranda was 'all in' by the time she first shared an elevator ride with the girlnever questioning why.

She never imagined someone, her husband, finding her journal either. How stupid? She'd been so stupid. To write it all down. To put it down on paper, thereby making it all too real. Real enough to end her marriage. Real enough to cause entirely too much damage for something that had no real chance to begin with. What was she thinking? Andrea was half her age. Andrea was, most importantly, a woman. And with no professionalnot to mention financialstanding whatsoever.

She would be the laughing stock of New York, of the world, for even trying. For even opening her mouth, Miranda would be labeled as completely nuts.

But there were four months of journal entries to say otherwise. Four months of journal entries said Miranda didn't care if Andrea was half her age or a woman and they definitely said she didn't give a damn about Andrea's standing in the public eye. They said all that and more.

And Stephen wanted her to tell Andrea all that. No, Miranda never imagined any of this.

Before Miranda could blink again, there she was coming through the door, arms full of bags, looking rushed as usual. The way Andrea turned and launched right in after putting down the bagsor started toowas priceless. The look on her face God, Miranda could barely hold herself together.

With a million things running through Miranda's head, she went straight for the safest topic, or perhaps not the safest topic but one that needed to be discussed as soon as possible. The seating chart. Of course, the seating chart.

It didn't begin well. Andrea still appeared to be flustered over Miranda's current state and couldn't find her head or the seating chart within a reasonable time frame. After a comment about her 'glacial pace' Andrea finally found them both and got down to business.

But then it happened. You're very fetching, so go fetch

After that it was a downhill ride. Tears, pathetic tears over a marriage that was officially wrecked. A marriage that should never have been to start with. Because Stephen was right. She had settled. She had knowingly settled.

And she had also made Stephen a promise.

Her dismissal of Andrea had already been said but before Miranda could stop herself or even slow down just a little bit, she began to keep that promise.

Quickly, and on steadier legs than Miranda bargained for, she rose to her feet and called out to Andrea.

"Andrea," she said with a voice that was hoarse and weak.

"Yes, Miranda?" Andrea said, coming back, right up to Miranda in fact. Close. Closer than ever before. Coincidently, Miranda hardly made it three feet from the couch.

She really wasn't sure what came out of her mouth next. There was something about how even though he was the one doing the asking, the divorce was not really Stephen's fault. And then there was something about four months, and journals, and settling and then not settling at all.

Andrea's head shook a little like she was trying to clear it and she blinked repeatedly. She did not understand. Andrea had absolutely no clue what Miranda was saying or even meant. Of course she didn't understand. Of course

Disregarding everything else but those journal entries, Miranda reached out and gently put her hands on either side of Andrea's face. Andrea's eyes widened and Miranda briefly thought about how she'd never worked for anything as hard as she was about to now. Compared to this, producing a top-selling magazine was nothing. Compared to this, everything else was meaningless. And this would never become meaningless. This would never fade.

"Andrea," Miranda whispered, like that was the most important word she'd ever said in her life. "The journal entries were about you. Four months' worth. About you. And he found them."

"Wait, I don't What? Miranda, what are you " Andrea fumbled around with her questions for sure, but she did a little bit more than that. She put a hand on Miranda's hip.

For a full sixty seconds they just looked at each other.

As soon as the sixty seconds ended, though, Andrea removed her hand from Miranda's hip and started to take a step back like she'd just woken up out of a trance. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry "

Miranda wasn't sure what on earth Andrea could ever be sorry for but she wasn't prepared to let her back away, run away, go away. She wasn't prepared to let Andrea do any of those things.

"Stop," Miranda grabbed Andrea's wrist and pulled her back in. "He found my journal and made me promise to tell you how I feel. So that's what I'm doing. I'm telling you..."

"How you feel?" Andrea's voice was nothing more than a squeak at this point. If the timing had been better Miranda would have just kissed her right then. It was adorable.

"Yes. How I feel, Andrea. About you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

Surprisingly enough, Andrea put a hand back on Miranda's hip after that and Miranda instantly felt more hopeful than was probably wise. But no matter.

"Well?"

Miranda's eyes flew up to meet Andrea's. She'd unknowingly been staring at Andrea's lips that were just a few inches away now somehow.

"Well, I love you, Andrea. I love you."

Andy had not ever, ever, not in a million fucking years, counted on ever hearing this. Love? Miranda Priestly? No. This was not something she ever imagined. Well, Andy imagined it. Or dreamed about it, rather. But she was never dumb enough to allow herself to believe it might actually happen. Never.

But it had happened. Just now like four seconds ago. It happened.

Sadly, the only thing Andy could think to say was, "You can't be serious."

Miranda, looking very serious, shook her head. "I am serious," she said. "Believe it or not but I am serious. There are four months of journal entries that will tell you that. That and more if you ever care to read them."

Then, while her heart pounded, the only other thing Andy could think to say was, "And you're getting divorced?" Because reallyshe better be. Miranda better be getting a divorce and this had better not be just another dream. This had better be real.

"I am," Miranda shook her head again in confirmation. "I am getting a divorce. And I do love you."

Andy really wasn't sure how it happened but without even questioning it, her lips were pressed forcefully against Miranda's. And she didn't stop

It was shameful really, to be kissing this woman this way; not gently at all, but Andy honestly couldn't help herself. And yes, this was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong and definitely should not be happening this way but damn it, Andy couldn't help it. She couldn't help but jump in with both feet and just go for it. And Miranda didn't seem to be objecting. At first her body was tensealthough Andy barely registered it at the timebut soon enough she was pressed against Andy tightly with her arms around Andy's neck.

That right there pretty much sealed the deal for her. She was done. All in. Period. Why the hell not? What did Andy have to lose? Absolutely nothing, when she really thought about it. After all, she'd already ended her relationship with Nate over this womanalthough he didn't know that was the real reasonso why shouldn't she get what she wanted? Why shouldn't she claim the best prize of all for breaking through the walls Miranda had been building around herself for years? Whether she liked the image or not, Andy had effectivelywithout even knowing it at firstturned herself into one hell of a wrecking ball. She's broken through those walls and consequently, Miranda's marriage. That probably wasn't something to be proud of but it was hard not to be. And, honestly, it was only fair considering that Miranda had very effectively done the exact same thing to her own relationship with a boyfriend of five years.

Suddenly, Andy felt the gentle pull of Miranda's fingers running through her hair like she was desperately trying to hang on. Without caring even more than before, Andy kissed her harder and deeper and held her tighter. And at this point, she was pretty certain she'd never kissed anyone like this without hesitation and absolutely no consideration for what was decent or right.

For her efforts she was rewarded with Miranda literally going weak in the knees. Andy caught her though, just in time, and somehow managed to push Miranda back to the couch. This break gave Andy a quick chance to clear her head and she realized it might be time to slow down a littleif she could force herself tobut found that the opposite was wanted when Miranda pulled her along.

None too soon, Miranda tore Andy's dress over her head. In turn, Andy untied Miranda's robe as quickly as she could manage. Apparently, foreplay just wasn't meant to be tonight. Neither of them appeared to have time for it.

Once Andy's dress and bra were off and Miranda's robe was open wideand thank God she was completely naked underneaththey were both in a complete frenzy, already halfway to what Andy hoped would be the most explosive orgasm either of them had ever experienced. Andy was already sure that would be true for her and from the way Miranda's back was continually arching off the couch and her body forcefully moved against Andy, she was pretty sure it would be true for Miranda too.

When Andy felt Miranda's nails rake across her back and she heard Miranda cryingyes cryingand begging her to go inside deep and hard well, something in Andy broke and she finished falling. She finished falling in love, falling just as much in love with Miranda as Miranda was with her. The kind of love that would never burn up and crash to the ground. The kind of love that would never become meaningless or fade. The kind of love that would survive anything and everything that came their way.

After all, somewhere there were four months of journal entries that could tell Andy that was the truth.